


and the stars did wander darkling

by cadmean



Category: The Malazan Book of the Fallen - Steven Erikson
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 17:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5505980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmean/pseuds/cadmean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The friendship between Anomander Rake and Caladan Brood, from bitter beginning to triumphant end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the stars did wander darkling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tedronai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tedronai/gifts).



> Title taken from Lord Byron's _Darkness_.

“Brother,” Andarist began as soon as the Azathanai High Mason was out of sight, vanished behind a hillrise-- Anomander cut him off with a shake of his head almost immediately.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he told his brother, levelly meeting his eyes, “and all _I_ will say is that I did what I deemed necessary. This is between him and me alone, now.”

Andarist shrugged, and looked away. “It was your decision, Anomander, though I confess that I do not know what moved you to demand such a thing of an Azathanai. Your fates are bound now whether that was what you were after or not – and brother, there are few more questionable things than being bound to an Azathanai. He will cause trouble for you, mark my words.”

Anomander appreciated the worry spurring his brother on, though he did not particularly care for the way Andarist made it known.

“I doubt this Caladan Brood will act in any way unbecomingly toward the Tiste,” Anomander said with finality, and made his way up a small slope and away from the house and its hearthstone, to where his youngest brother was still waiting for them.

And true enough: when Light came to Kurald Galain, Shadow following doggedly at its heels; when the thin skin of civility holding back war among the Tiste ruptured; when far off in the wilder lands the Jaghut prepared for their final assault on death itself and nearer to home Mother Dark cast the fates and made her choice – Caladan Brood was nowhere to be seen.

This Anomander did not begrudge him – _no blood shed in my name or cause_ –, and at the time he didn’t even give it much thought to begin with. It was a Tiste affair, after all, and any outside intervention unwelcome. The vow he’d made to the High Mason of the Azathanai was as far from his mind as things could be those days, and afterward, during the splintering of his people and the subsequent exodus, Anomander had other worries crowding his mind. And as Andarist had said: Their fates were bound, now. There would be no escaping that fact.

\---

At the heart of the floating fortress of Moon’s Spawn, where the dark was impenetrable and the shadows were long and jagged, familiar footsteps echoed through the halls.

Rake knew full well who it was, of course – Endest Silann having notified him almost immediately that a suspiciously large man had demanded entrance to the Andii’s sanctuary – but nevertheless he couldn’t help but be surprised by the sudden and entirely unexpected reappearance of his old acquaintance.

“Caladan Brood. It’s been a long time,” he greeted the Azathanai when he entered the small hall Anomander had made his dominion, moving to clasp hands with him. Brood returned the gesture easily enough, his large hand enveloping Anomander’s and shaking it with a gentleness that belied his giant frame.

When they parted, Anomander gestured toward several stools arranged in front of a small hearth. Brood sat, and the stool, which Anomander had been momentarily worried about, did not creak in the slightest. They remained there in silence, enveloped by the comforting dark, until at last Brood leaned back, crossed his arms over his chest, and smiled.

“You killed him with his own sword,” Brood observed with a nod at said weapon. “I’m not certain whether to be impressed, or worried that you’ll now be making a habit of it.”

Anomander couldn’t help but glance at the enormous hammer strapped to Brood’s back in a similar fashion as he was now carrying Dragnipur. “The sword he forged holds a gate to Kurald Galain at his heart. You know this,” he said after a moment. “Draconus loved Mother Dark – I will give him that much, even if I did, and still do not, approve of the union. He is always near her, now.”

“That is kind of you.”

Anomander briefly bristled at the barely veiled judgement in his tone, but reined himself in quickly enough. “Kindness is not a crime, Caladan Brood.”

Brood smiled grimly at that, and shook his head. “Few would consider Draconus in need – or indeed, worthy – of kindness,” he replied easily, though seeming somewhat exasperated. “Even fewer would call what you did a kindness at all. The years are long for all of us, my friend, but inside Dragnipur they are without end. Do not try to pass your need for retribution off as altruistic motives, no matter how far-fetched – it doesn’t become you.”

True, of course, and Anomander didn’t know what to say in reply.

Noticing his hesitation, Brood continued in more amiable tones, “What I came to ask though, Anomander, is this: What will you do now? For so long you were hunting Draconus, and now that he is gone—I cannot help but wonder where you will take your people now.”

“Are you here to offer guidance, then?” Anomander asked the question lightly, but truth be told he felt no levity at all. The question of what new goal he would turn to now that Draconus had finally been beaten was one he had been asking himself too often. He had been tireless in his pursuit of Draconus, but with that goal accomplished at long last he found himself aimless.

He looked at Brood with a wariness he hadn’t felt in ages – was he seeking to mock?

But Brood only laughed.

“Your path is your own, Rake,” he said, “and I wouldn’t try to influence you one way or another. What I _would_ do – if you’d have me – is accompany you down this new road. We could teach each other much, I imagine.”

Anomander, despite himself, smiled. The road he walked was a lonely one in the end, as it always had been, but perhaps it would not be so bad to have company for at least part of it. So he said, “If you wish. I will be glad for your company, Caladan Brood.”

\---

Years passed. Rake wished that they had done so in the blink of an eye, but even now, thousands of years riding on his back, time did not fly by any faster than it had done when he had still been young and new to the world. The world – it had changed, in those passing years. Civilizations had risen and fallen and Anomander had been there to watch them, had been privy to seeing just how power corrupted those unfortunate enough to be burdened with it.

He had sent Andarist to Drift Avalii, which Anomander told himself was for the best -- he did not know how to speak to his brother anymore, the shame and shared blame of their losses threatening to suffocate them both entirely. Andarist had taken the sword, of course. _Vengeance. Grief._ Anomander wondered how much longer his brother could deny himself both emotions.

His people were without home, without purpose, and he, their lord, was just as aimless as he had been since the moment Dragnipur had struck Draconus.

And yet, despite the hopelessness that now threatened to devour his soul, the world did not stop for Anomander.

He met Caladan Brood in a war tent erected on a level plain, surrounded by a wide camp with banners that streaked an ethereal red in the light of the setting sun.

“They’re building an empire,” Anomander began without much preamble. Pointing at the maps spread out on the table between them, he directed Brood’s attention to the worrying developments spreading out from Unta. “This Kellanved has found the First Throne of the Imass. Much of Quon Tali has already fallen to him and his ilk.”

Brood nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m here. A human empire of such ambition – Dessimbelackis would be proud.”

“Even the two of us won’t be able to stop them on our own at this point, though. They’ve grown too strong, too quickly – and we watched idly for much too long as well,” Anomander said. “It will be an uphill battle to beat them back.”

Brood crooked an eyebrow. “Are you scared of opposition now?”

“Have I ever been? Naturally I would prefer there to be no opposition from the new empire at all, but I am willing to fight them before they subjugate the whole continent. And besides: we won’t be alone in this,” and here he rummaged among the papers scattered over the table for a moment, until at last he found a small slip of paper covered in tight writing.

He handed it to Brood, who read over it, amusement evident in the set of his lips.

“K’azz D’Avore and his Crimson Guard will stand with us.” Anomander nodded at the flap entrance of the tent, and beyond, to the crimson-colored flags waving outside high in the sky. “He will be joining us shortly.”

“Well then,” Caladan Brood said, surreptitiously readjusting the hammer clasped to his back, “it’s good that I find it incredibly hard to back down from a challenge.”

\---

The city was always dark, tainted forever by the unveiled Kurald Galain, and in that darkness, Tiste Andii once more walked the skin of the earth. It wasn’t Kharkanas, Anomander was quick to remind himself whenever he grew too complacent staring out over the true-black sky, but for the first time in uncountable years the Andii had something that they could properly call home.

Yet, no matter how much like Kharkanas the city of Black Coral now seemed, no matter how relieved they all were to no longer be travelling the world in search of a purpose – despite all that the fact remained that it _was not Kharkanas_ , and that the children of Mother Dark were still alone, still abandoned.

And that, Anomander had decided at long last, would not do.

With that decision came the making of plans, the casting of the knuckles, all preparations made and the pieces maneuvered into place -- and when he had heard tell of a large warrior wielding an even larger hammer come to Black Coral, Anomander was not in the least bit surprised. It was simply the way of things between them.

Ostensibly Brood had come to talk, but they had each been alone with their own thoughts for the better part of an hour now; Brood cleaning his hammer while Anomander watched the flickering fire in the hearth. Would Brood try to dissuade him, he wondered – or would he offer his aid, as he had done in so many other situations in the past? When it came to most people Anomander would have at least been able to guess at their intent, but Caladan Brood was not most people.

It was a trait he both admired and cursed.

“It does not do,” Brood said at length ,“to spend too much time mulling over the past.“

Anomander didn’t take his eyes off of the slowly dying flames, but nevertheless raised an eyebrow in amusement. “You think to lecture me on the past? You are Azathanai. What does your kind know of remembering the past, when you give up your own so easily?”

“Point taken!” Brood laughed heartily, slapping Anomander on the shoulder. “Still, be careful that you don’t let your reminiscence of the past butt your thoughts on the future. You’ve always been clear-eyed, my friend, and I would hate to see you lose that clear-sightedness now."

“Dragnipur grows heavier by the day, Brood. My people are without their Mother. We cannot continue like this— _I_ cannot.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he said, “You know what I plan to do.”

It wasn’t a question, because the fact alone that Brood was here was enough to make clear that not only did he know, but that he had made up his mind on where he stood.

“It’s an ambitious plan, no doubt about that. But not all ambition bears fruit, Rake,” Brood cautioned. “If you fail in this, you won’t be the only one to pay the price. Hood—“

“Hood knows just as well as you and I that he is needed. He’s played his own game for too long, secluding himself – if we cannot stand united against Chaos, then what have we accomplished in the millennia since Kharkanas fell?”

The flames crackled. Brood, without so much as making a single sound, stood up and made for the door. He hefted his hammer into a more comfortable position on his back, then, already half-way out the door, he turned back around. His face was hidden by the swaths of shadow cloaking the room, and the way he held himself was as uninformative as always, but when he spoke up his voice was full of restrained emotion.

“Good luck, Anomander.”

Rake nodded, and continued to watch the flames flickering into embers. Slowly, surely, darkness took complete hold of the room once more.

\---

The barrow which now housed the mortal remains of the First Son of Mother Dark was beautifully built – as it should be, as Caladan Brood himself had been involved in its making and he wasn’t one for half-hearted attempts.

Like his father’s grave in old Kharkanas, Anomander Rake’s crypt was without any easily recognizable inscription save for the Barghest sigil on it; a great big mound of stone and earth forever guarding the eldest son of Mother Dark. But appearances were, as with so any things, deceiving; much like his father’s grave, Rake’s final resting place held a message etched into the darkened walls lining the inside of it.

This message, too, was written in the language of the Azathanai, though few alive today would be able to recognize it as such should the words ever come to light. Caladan Brood could well imagine the day when a handful of Rake’s children would start to wonder at what the words facing inward, toward eternal darkness, might proclaim. For him it had taken all but a thought to carve them, the stone obeying his will as easily as it had so many years ago when he had first met Anomander Rake and his brothers.

He was not one for sentimentalisms, usually. If anything, Caladan Brood prided himself on being as blunt and direct as the earth itself, and he was not one to let emotions hold any undue sway over him.

But here, with the barrow, he had made an exception. Call it sentimentalism if you must, but for Brood, it marked the final, irreversible end of the road he and Anomander Rake had embarked on thousands of years ago, and so he had left the sigil of Grief for all the world to see, and three lines of Azathanai script inside the barrow, facing ever inward.

A last message to his friend.


End file.
